


Translators Didn't Invent Lying (but they're pretty good at it)

by dreamedofwings (fabre)



Series: The Meaning of True Love Cannot Be Found in the Dictionary [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Translator!Cas, mentions of nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2570642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabre/pseuds/dreamedofwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean really needs to get to work (in fact, he should already be at the office, but, hey, this is one of the perks of being your own boss), but, as usual, every available surface in the apartment he shares with his boyfriend is covered from top to bottom in dictionaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Translators Didn't Invent Lying (but they're pretty good at it)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Los traductores no inventaron las mentiras (pero de que se les dan bien, se les dan)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/81614) by dreamedofwings. 



> Written for tumblr's "Speak Your Native Language Day".

“Cas, have you seen my keys?”

Dean really needs to get to work (in fact, he should already be at the office, but, hey, this is one of the perks of being your own boss), but, as usual, every available surface in the apartment he shares with his boyfriend is covered from top to bottom in dictionaries. Dean sighs and lifts the small tower comprised of heavy Oxford, Longman and María Moliner tomes that’s formed over the little table they keep by the entrance and...  _bingo_ , there are his keys.

“What is it?” Cas appears on the doorway that leads to their room and Dean can’t help but laugh. His hair’s all messy and he’s wrapped himself like a burrito in what Dean suspects is every single blanket they keep in their bedroom. He’s never liked the cold.

“Cas...” Dean shakes his head, amused, and grabs one of the dictionaries, walking towards his boyfriend and hitting him over the head with it (gently, though – Dean is sure one of these ginormous tomes could kill someone), “I’ve told you a million times. I don’t mind if you cover every single inch of this apartment in dictionaries, but  _never leave them over my baby’s keys_.”

“Oh,” Cas gives him his very best abandoned-in-the-rain, half-asleep kitty look and Dean can’t resist. Shit, what’s wrong with him? He used to be such a tough guy before. He’ll bet this is Sammy’s fault; he probably taught him how to make the face and everything – he never should have let them meet, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean wraps an arm around his waist and brings him close, “But you’ll have to make it up to me later.”

“I believe I can do that.” Cas lets go of his blankets and they pool at his feet, clinging to Dean instead and freaking snuggling into his chest. Jesus, the guy’s shameless. Dean is sure he’s about to fall asleep again – he’s never been much of a morning person.

“Come on, Mr. Sloth. Back to bed with you – I need you awake tonight.” He gives his backside a playful slap and Cas releases an affronted sound, but he doesn’t let go of him. Dean laughs (he can’t help it), his boyfriend might be a zombie in the mornings, but he’s adorable. He tilts his head to plant a kiss on his temple, “Lunch’s in the fridge. Don’t skip it. You know how you get when you haven’t eaten. And then when you start writing nonsense in your translations, I’m the one who gets yelled at. I don’t want to get another call from Naomi.”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas doesn’t let go right away and Dean lets him – he figures he’s already late, so hey, what are 5 more minutes gonna do? “Have a good day.”

“You too. Okay, come on. Back to bed with you. If you don’t let me go I’m never gonna leave.”

Cas laughs and releases him, but not before giving him a brief kiss, “That was the plan.”

“I knew it. Never trust a translator.” Cas is smiling when he bends down to pick up his abandoned bedding and, once he gets up, Dean uses the opportunity to steal another kiss. Damn it, Charlie’s gonna kick his ass. “Okay, I’m really going. I’ll see you later today. Be good.”

Cas watches him go from the threshold of their bedroom.

It’s not until Dean reaches the parking lot of their building that he realizes the freaking ass stole the Impala’s keys from his pocket.

When he gets back upstairs, Cas is sitting on the kitchen counter, once again comfortably wrapped in his blanket burrito and holding a cup of coffee in his hands. Next to him is Dean’s cup.

“Cas, what...?”

Cas nods towards the digital calendar that hangs next to the fridge (a Christmas gift from Sam) and takes another sip from his cup, the picture of calm (and, in fact, if Dean isn’t mistaken, the jerk is holding back his laughter).

Dean looks at the date.

It’s Saturday.

Jesus Christ, he’s gonna kill him.

As Dean turns to him, Cas stands up and lets the blankets fall to the floor once again. He’s wearing nothing underneath.

Okay...

Maybe he won’t  _kill_  him.

Damn it.


End file.
